We Got Us
by darthsydious
Summary: Sherlock, Molly, John and Mary are awesome and have awesome times together. John and Mary enjoy watching Sherlock decide he loves Molly.
1. Life Is a Funny Thing

_Sometimes you laugh and sing_

* * *

Molly was dreading that night. It was Saturday, which meant she and Tom would be going to the pub. They always went to the pub. Always the same one. They ordered the same thing, each drank three pints, and he'd ask the bartender what the score on the game was, but never took his eyes off her when at the table. He was a perfect gentleman, loving and attentive. But they never went anywhere else. The week would drift by, one day blending into the next, each day the same routine. Lately she'd felt an awful sinking feeling in her gut that this was what her life was. Work each day, come home, they took turns making dinner, walked the dog and watched two hours of television before bed. Pub on Saturday, and dinner with his family on Sunday. It was the life she'd often thought about when she was younger, the life everyone wanted and dreamt of. It _did_ appeal to her, domesticity, but now she was living it, and she wasn't so sure if it suited her. She was a pathologist; she worked with dead people and sometimes ran around London chasing murderers with Sherlock Holmes for pities sake. Tom's family, lovely as they were, simply didn't know why she wanted to keep the job she did. They suggested different types of work, work that wasn't 'so depressing'.

"It's _not_ depressing," she'd insist. She loved her work.

"Why not go back to college, complete your degree in medicine and be a doctor?" Tom asked.

"I _am_ a doctor," Molly said with a laugh, and then sobered, seeing he was serious. "I _am_ a doctor," she repeated. "It says so on my bloody diploma! I'm not a _surgeon_, and frankly I don't want to be." Somehow, her being a pathologist didn't cut it with his family. Work, as exciting as it was for her, did not suit them, so she stopped talking to him about it. She told her stories to John and Sherlock and Mary, who all giggled or leaned in with interest at the particularly fascinating autopsies.

Closing the filing cabinet, Molly paused, thinking then of John and his fiancée. She didn't think she'd ever see a couple more perfectly suited than John and Mary. Sherlock approved of her, which seemed to be the biggest accomplishment. Mrs. Hudson could never cease in her boasting of the woman who nabbed Doctor Watson. Mary Morstan, soon to be Watson, was quick-witted, clever, beautiful, and balanced out John and Sherlock the way Molly wished she could. She couldn't help but be a little jealous of Mary, at least at first. After all, Sherlock seemed to adore Mary, even _after_ she shot him! Molly was enough of an adult to wish she were in Mary's shoes at least once, not when it came to dating John, of course. Of course having a boyfriend wouldn't have hurt either, at least one that wasn't so impossibly…_ordinary_.

"Your boyfriend Tom. He seems a bit…dull for you." Mary said to her the following Monday, having asking what she and Tom had gotten up to over the weekend.  
"Oh…well…he's um…he's very nice, loyal, friendly, caring-"

"So is a Labrador," Mary quipped. "Look…maybe it's not my business, but whenever you two are together, it looks like you're just putting on a show, acting how you think everyone thinks you should act." Molly didn't know whether to be insulted or impressed. Mary had exactly put into words how Molly felt. It was true, Tom _wasn't_ for her. While he was a _good_ man, he wasn't the _right_ man for her. She'd probably known it since she met him, but when you're lonely, and a lovely man starts being nice to you, opening doors and paying for dinners and just generally being sweet, one does overlook things, at least at first. As relationship go, it wasn't a bad one. But Tom was one of those fellows who texted you about ten times a day just to say he loved you. It was nice to know she was cared for, and it would be stupid and cruel to complain about something as silly as that. Tom was stifling, in the kindest sense. If she went to the shops, he went with her, if she went for a jog, so did Tom. If she took a nap, Tom was right next to her, smiling happily as she rested her eyes.

Good God, he _was_ a Labrador.

"Cripes I'm an idiot," Molly groaned, putting her head on her desk. Mary laughed.

"No you're not! He _is_ a nice man, Molly, and if he makes you happy, then don't listen to me, tell me to piss off and shut up. I'm nosy is all. I notice when people aren't themselves, and you're definitely not yourself when you're with him. It's not fair to yourself if you can't be who you are with the person you might spend the rest of your life with." Mary smiled at her then. "I'm only bringing it up because you've seemed so unhappy lately," she paused. "I want us to be friends, good friends. I don't want you to feel like I pushed you out or that I'm trying to take your place as Sherlock's friend."

"I'd have to be in to be pushed out," Molly replied, Mary frowned. "But I _would_ like us to be friends, I'm not hurt, honestly, I think I'm more relieved, someone else had to say it I think."

"You know John and I will support you, whatever you do," Mary said.

"Mary!" John called, the women both looked up, seeing the doctor at the end of the hallway. "Lestrade says if we don't escort Sherlock from the hospital he'll do it himself, straight to the Yard."

"Coming," Mary rolled her eyes, smiling at Molly. "Call me if you want to talk later, we'll go for drinks."

That afternoon, after her shift, Molly went to Tom's and did what felt right for the first time since she'd agreed to marry him. She gave him back the engagement ring. For his part, he was very good about it and accepted it without a lot of fuss and tears, though Molly did feel as if she'd just kicked a puppy, seeing his expression.

"Sure I can't say anything to change your mind?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No, Tom, you deserve someone who can appreciate you for who you are, the same as I deserve."

"I do-" he began to insist, but she shook her head.

"No, you don't," she smiled understandingly. "You don't, and- and that's okay, really," slowly, he nodded. "You're a lovely man, Tom, and you'll make someone very, very happy, I'm sure. Thank you, for everything," she even pressed his cheek.

"Take care," he said and she returned it.

She waited until she was around the block before she started skipping, grinning from ear to ear. She'd never felt such a weight off her shoulders. The sinking feeling was gone! She was alone, yes, but she was happy. She pulled out her phone, texting Mary.

_Drinks tonight? -MollyH_

_You broke up with him? -MaryM_

_Yes I did. – MollyH_

_So…can I cheer or is this more of a drown-our-sorrows night? –MaryM_

_No, it's a good thing. I'll text Anthea; we can get in some pretty swank places with her pull. –MollyH_

_Is she that girl Sherlock's brother is keen on? –MaryM_

_I don't know as he's keen on anyone, but yes, I suppose so. –MollyH_

That night, Mary and Anthea took Molly out for a night on the town and didn't come home until three AM. Anthea dropped them off at 221b, (having acquired the car and chauffer from Mycroft) and Mary, still ripping drunk, piggy-backed Molly up the stairs.

"Oh my God, what did you do to her?" John asked, stifling a laugh. Sherlock was frowning and pacing, as he had not been told where they were going. Molly, having been deposited on the sofa lolled her head around to look at the doctor.

"I _lived_," she said.

"Didn't throw up once," Mary patted her harder than necessary. "Good on you, didn't chunder the thunder down under once," they both burst out laughing. Mary kicked her shoes off, catching each one mid-air before throwing them over her shoulder.

"What on earth were you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Celebrating!" Mary said. Somehow, she'd managed to hold onto the bottle of champagne from the car.

"Celebrating what?" Sherlock queried. "Your hen party isn't for another two weeks."

"Molly's broke up with Tom," Mary said.

"Hurrah!" Molly threw up her hands.

"You what?" John and Sherlock both stared.

"Did you want to?"

"Course I did," Molly snorted. "He's a Labrador-" Mary began to giggle as Molly toppled over, laughing. "I am a doctor, and a pathologist, and I am definitely _not_ a Labrador." She got to her feet, swaying. "_You're_ not a Labrador, Sherlock," she patted his cheek, kissing the air in front of him. She then stumbled down the hall, declaring she would take a bath. John ran after her before she cracked her head on the tub, leaving a stunned Sherlock and a still giggling Mary.

John and Sherlock never did get a straight answer as to why Tom was forever referred to as a Labrador.


	2. Sometimes You Grumble and Fuss

John pushed open the doors to the lab, finding the paperwork right on the counter where Sherlock said he'd left it. He turned to leave, pausing when he heard a scuffling sound.

"Hello?" he called. "Molly?" He peered around the counter, finding Molly sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to her chest. "Molly, what is it?" he asked, startled. "What's the matter?"

"Shut the door!"

"It's shut," he soothed, even turning to make sure. "It's shut, Molly, will you tell me what's wrong?" She sat on the floor, pale as a sheet, hands trembling. He recognized a panic attack when he saw one. "Can I come over there?" he asked. She nodded briefly and he crossed the room, sitting down on the floor only a step or two from her. He spoke quietly, helping her control her breathing. His tones were soothing, and though she was shaking, she managed not to give way completely. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "Did something startle you?" she shook her head.

"I just…I need to go home, I want to go home," hands shaking she rubbed her wrists and her palms together, scratching her skin. John placed his hands over hers.

"Scratch yourself raw if you're not careful," he said gently. "Stay right here, I'll make a call." John got up, crossing the room to get his phone from his coat pocket. At first, he wasn't sure who to call. His fingers hovered over the keypad. He couldn't just take Molly home; Molly would have to go to Mike Stamford before leaving. Before he could decide, the screen of his phone lit up.

_Stamford has been informed about Molly Hooper's sudden bout of stomach flu. He wishes to assure Doctor Hooper she is free to take the rest of the day off and wishes her a speedy recovery. – MH_

John looked around the room, frowning. Trust Mycroft and his eerie CCTV's everywhere, as well as being clever enough to come up with a discreet excuse.

"Molly," he approached her again. "Mike says you can go home, can you stand?" she nodded, bleak and bleary-eyed.

"Don't tell Sherlock, he wouldn't understand."

"I won't tell anyone you don't want me to," he promised. He waited by her locker as she fetched her things. "Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?" he asked. "Mary and I aren't doing anything, you don't have to talk at all, just come and watch telly." There was a long pause.

"I don't want to be a burden." John shook his head.

"You won't be." After a long while, she nodded, and John smiled kindly at her. "Come on, let's go home."

In the cab, John had texted Mary, and being the understanding woman that she was, greeted them at the door in her pyjamas, already putting the pathologist at ease that this would not be any kind of social visit. Even before Molly could force a smile, Mary was gently ushering her to the living room, helping her out of her coat, dropping her things as they walked.

"Coat and shoes anywhere, doesn't matter, lay on the sofa," Molly, too exhausted to fight did as she was told, flopping onto the couch. A blanket was placed over her, tucked under her feet, over her head and under her chin. "You rest there," Mary said. Molly shut her eyes, keeping her breathing even. Being at John and Mary's was better in the long run. They didn't care if she lay on the couch and said nothing. For the first half hour, they left her alone, letting her rest.

In a while, Mary shuffled in, holding two bowls.

"Bunch up a little, you can't lie down and eat ice cream."

"I shouldn't feed my feelings," Molly said, sitting up anyway.

"Who's feeding feelings? We're eating ice cream because we want to." Molly offered a smile then, taking the bowl from her. She played with it mostly, eating what she could.

"What brought this one on?" Mary asked. "Someone say something? Or was there a bad autopsy?" Molly shook her head.

"Just felt panicked, couldn't stop it, you know?" she managed finally, feeling her throat swell as she tried to swallow her tears. "I hate feeling like this."

"Feelings don't have to make sense," Mary shrugged. "I used to have panic attacks, so I do know how you feel; it's the worst, not knowing why you're feeling afraid."

"I can't imagine you ever panicking," Molly said.

"You haven't seen her at the shops looking for just the right pair of shoes," John called from the kitchen.

"Oi!" Molly smiled at this interaction. She loved Mary dearly, and was beyond happy that she and John were married. They were perfectly matched. Molly was grateful for her friends, especially in times like this. She wished she could be more like Mary, strong and brave, full of confidence. "Stop that," Molly looked up, startled.

"What?"

"Stop comparing yourself to what you wish you were," Mary said. Molly looked at her lap, embarrassed. Mary always seemed to know what was going on in her head. "You're more than that, you know, far more than simply what you wish you were."

"I know I'm not as bad as I think I am," Molly said finally.

"You're certainly not bad!" Mary laughed. "Molly, you're the dearest person I know, you hardly ever get mad without real reason. You've got the British Government on speed-dial, and you've got the strongest stomach of anybody I know. You're one of the very select few people that can get through the thick skull of Sherlock Holmes _and_ make him listen. Do you know Mrs. Hudson brags about you?"

"Sh-she does?" Molly squeaked. She couldn't picture anyone bragging about her. Nobody wanted to be mousy, little Molly Hooper. Molly didn't especially think she was very much of a person.

"Before I met Mary, she kept trying to set you and me up," John said. "She said Sherlock couldn't possibly deserve you, and I had a far better shot."

"Poor thing had to settle for me!" Mary joked.

"No he didn't!" Molly gasped as the Watson's both laughed. "Oh that's awful!"

"Why?" John asked.

"Well it _is_ you Mrs. Hudson was trying to set poor Molly up with," Mary said, laughing, Molly tried to hide her giggles. "Come on," she patted the pathologist's knee. "Let's order food, I don't feel like cooking, and John can only make eggs. You must be starving."

"A little," Molly admitted.

They were studying the menus when the door banged open. Only Molly jumped, and Mary touched her hand, steadying her.

"Is it possible for you to ever come in like a normal human being?!" John barked. Sherlock quirked a brow, studying him and then Molly.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I hadn't realized you'd had a trying day," Mary and John frowned. "Are you better now?" He actually was sincere, and didn't understand when John affixed him with such a look. Sherlock seemed confused.

"What are you doing?" The Consulting Detective shifted, not quite sure how John didn't understand.

"Apologizing, I believe. Am I wrong? I did say sorry."

"No, it's fine," Molly said. "We're ordering food, are you hungry?"

"Yes," he crossed the room, seating himself in John's chair. "Whatever you order is fine." John and Mary both looked at the pathologist.

"Sherlock, Molly's having a bad day, we were just going to keep things quiet tonight," Mary said. Sherlock looked up, expression unreadable; though Molly knew he was deducing her.

_Tense._

_Exhausted (most probably due to the afternoon's panic attack)_

_Clearly uncomfortable in my prescence. _

"Yes, I see," he said. "Well, I'll go then-"

"No!" Molly hated for anyone to go on her account. Though the peace of the evening was probably gone, she couldn't bear making anyone uncomfortable. "No, it's fine, really- stay, everyone stay, please-"

"Molly-"

"I mean it," she said quickly, swallowing hard. "It's really okay, please don't anyone go." John nodded after a moment, picking up the menu and his phone to call in the order. Mary squeezed her hand, smiling.

"If he gets mouthy, we'll send him packing, I promise."

Sherlock had known Molly was having a difficult night as soon as he'd come in. The last time she'd had a panic attack; John had taken her home to Mary, later telling Sherlock about it, voicing his concerns. Sherlock was genuinely surprised; he'd never known Molly to have them. Anthea informed Sherlock they started happening after the death of James Moriarty. While Sherlock didn't understand Molly's panic attacks, he did wonder that she never trusted him enough to talk about them like she did with John and Mary. After all _he_ trusted her enough to help him fake his death, and when he'd been shot while in hiding, he made sure to have Mycroft bring her along to help him recuperate. Why didn't she trust him as he trusted her? Why were John and Mary so much easier to talk to? Probably because they cared. Sherlock cared too, of course, but it was difficult to show those feelings. He was unaccustomed to putting people at ease, especially Molly. It was easier to deduce people and then crack on. He wanted her to trust him in all aspects of her life, especially now that that Tom fellow was gone.

It took Molly almost an hour to visibly relax. Mary and John got up to clear away the dishes and bring dessert out of the freezer. Sherlock took his chance. He stretched out on the sofa, head in Molly's lap. He looked up at her a moment, and then shut his eyes.

"Scratch my head please, headache."

"Um…well- are you sure?"

"Certainly," he answered and opened his eyes again. "I shouldn't like anyone else to."

"You're not getting Mr. Harley's pancreas, Sherlock." He opened his eyes.

"I don't recall asking for it. I just want you to scratch my head." He _did_ want Mr. Harley's pancreas, but it wouldn't do to ask for it now. He'd wait until the next day when she was at work, which would surely be a more appropriate time to ask for cadavers.

After a moment, Molly settled her fingers in his thick curls, slowly combing through them. It was a bit like petting a cat, and Molly suddenly thought of Toby and how much she wished he was still alive. After a moment, Sherlock sighed, she supposed in a content way. He steepled his fingers under his chin and shut his eyes.

"Sherlock, don't make her do that!" John exclaimed.

"I don't mind, really," Molly insisted, and she honestly didn't. The motion was repetitive and soothing. Sherlock was quiet, and his breathing was steady. She in turn, wasn't tense, and she had relaxed visibly. "Like petting Toby, I half expect him to start purring," she joked.

"I am _not_ a cat," Sherlock insisted, eyes shut and John guffawed.

"Yes you are!"

"You so are!"

"That's exactly what you are, you great preening berk!" they all talked at once, John shouting the loudest and Mary and Molly burst out laughing, Sherlock protesting for her to stop shaking the couch.

"Where's my cake?" he asked when their laughter died down and John told him to shut up and that it was coming in a while. He and Mary returned to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone again. "Feel better?" he asked quietly. Molly smiled a tiny smile, and it reached her eyes.

"A little bit, yes."

"Good." He settled into the cushions, careful not to dig his shoulders into her lap. "Whenever you have an attack, you know you can always come to me, provided I'm not on a case." He said. "I…could keep you company…if you wanted. Play cards or…whatever it is people do." Molly looked at him and was surprised to find he was looking back. He kept his face stoic, but the expression in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Even if I don't have a bad day?" she asked finally. He quirked a smile at her before shutting his eyes again.

"Even then," he said.

He felt her mouth against his forehead, pressing a gentle kiss.

"Thank you," she said softly. That meant a great deal, knowing he wanted her to trust him implicitly. "Now what?" she asked softly.

"You could keep scratching," he said. She laughed a little.

'I'd rather have cake," Molly said.

"Pfft. They'll be at least another ten minutes. Mary never waits for the cake to cool before frosting it, invariably making a great mess of it."

In the doorway of the kitchen, John and Mary stood, staring.

"Do we dare disturb them?" he asked.

"Let's just give them another twenty minutes," Mary said with a smile.  
"Mary…"

"Oh shush! It's good for them. Especially him."


	3. But Either Way What do We Care

_We got us_

* * *

John insisted he and Sherlock take the girls on a weekend holiday to thank them.

"For what?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"For putting up with us," John said. "Well…mostly you, but I encourage you sometimes."

"When you said wanted to take us somewhere special, I didn't think you meant camping," Mary said as John stacked wood. She and Molly sat on a log in the clearing. Sherlock was swearing and wrestling with a tent a little ways from them.

"You told me you love camping," John said.

"I said I _used_ to go camping, I never said anything about loving it!" Mary said. Molly only laughed.

"_I _like camping," she admitted.

"God, why?" Sherlock groused.

"Sherlock, let me do that before you tear the tent," John said. "You stack the wood and then we'll figure out what we want to catch for dinner."

"Catch?!" Sherlock nearly roared. Not that he disliked a challenge, but they'd just driven four hours with Mary and Molly giggling and laughing mercilessly the whole way. Now they were camped in the middle of the woods, no bloody toilets, and the promise of proper tea or breakfast hopelessly thrown out the window. He probably wouldn't see coffee until Monday. And there certainly wouldn't be any lovely murders going on out in the woods. Not with all that dreadful peace and quiet. He supposed if he was lucky there'd be a bear that may try to maul them.

"Calm down," Molly laughed. "Mary and I packed a cooler, and there will certainly be coffee and tea."

"You're lucky we talked John into letting us bring a tent," Mary teased. "If he had his way we'd all be naked and alone in the woods."

"I never said naked and alone," John huffed. "Least not with those two around." Mary's cheeks turned pink and she leaned over to kiss her husband. Sherlock stacked the wood while Molly washed her hands in the bucket of water. "So then what'll it be? bratwurst or burgers?" John asked as Molly began pulling things out of the cooler.

"If I know Molly, it will hardly be anything so plebian," Sherlock said and Molly smiled.

In another hour, their stomachs rumbled as Molly carefully removed the Cornish game hens from the spit over the fire.

"I marinated them before we left," she said. "Careful they're hot." Sherlock swore as he pulled one of the birds off the spit and onto his plate. They'd roasted beautifully; the skin was a crisp and dark brown, smelling richly of spices. There was enough for one bird each, and there were sweet potatoes roasted in their own jackets. Mary dug them out of the hot ashes, wiping them clean before passing out one each (they were massive things, one is all each of them could possibly handle).

"Sod that, I'm starving," John said, when Molly warned them again the birds were still too hot. They all tore at the birds with their fingers, hissing and swearing as they burned their mouths. Gleeful smiles replaced their frowns as they chewed.

"Molls, you're a wonder," Mary sighed with delight. There was nothing left but the bones when they were finished.

"Dare I ask if there's a sweet to follow?" John asked.

"S'mores," Molly and Mary both answered.

John often referred to Mary and Molly as his girls. He loved that Molly had found such a kindred spirit in Mary. His wife was absolutely an instigator, but Molly could be just as mischievous. It made going out more enjoyable, especially since Sherlock could not say no to both Mary and Molly.

After dinner was eaten and the dishes washed and put away, Mary handed Sherlock his violin.

"I didn't bring that."

"No, I did," she said. "Go on, play for Molly first, since she cooked dinner." Sherlock gave her a look but carefully took the instrument from its case, testing the strings and rosining the bow.

"What will you have Molly?" he asked and the pathologist thought for a moment.

"Something fun," she said with a twinkle. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes!' Mary laughed. "Come on, Sherlock."

"I won't entertain alone, Molly you start." Now they all looked back at her, and she almost faltered.

"Yes, come on, we'll sing," Mary insisted. Taking a quick swig from the bottle in her hand, Molly met Sherlock's gaze, grinning as she began to sing:

_Just a week or two ago my dear old Uncle Bill_

_Went and kicked the bucket and he left me in his will-_

John burst out laughing at Sherlock's expression, but Molly went right on singing:

_So I went around the road to see my Auntie Jane_

_She said 'your Uncle Bill has left for you a watch and chain". So I put _

_It on right across my derby kell._

_The sun was shining on it and it made me look a swell!_

_I went out, strolling round about, a crowd of kiddies_

_Followed me and they all began to shout- _

"Come on Sherlock!" she laughed and took a breath. He poised the bow, and began playing as the others joined in:

_Any old Iron! Any old iron! Any, any, any old iron!_

_You look neat, talk about a treat, you look so dapper from_

_Your napper to your feet! Dressed in style, brand new tile_

_With your father's old green tie-on, but I wouldn't _

_Give you tuppence for your old watch chain old iron, old iron!"_

"Yes well, that's enough of that," Sherlock muttered. "Mary, pick something, for God's sake not anything sung in a music hall."

"Very well," Mary nodded; she opened her mouth and began to sing as loud as she could:

"_Piccadilly! Piccadilly! Where the traffic goes one way!-"_ Molly knew the song as well and joined in:

"_In the daytime, there's a lot of life, but at nighttime_

_You're bound to lose your wife_

_Piccadilly! Piccadilly! Dear old London's broad highway!" _

"Technically _not_ sung in a music hall," Mary laughed as Sherlock glared.

"Alright," Molly sobered. "Play something you like, Sherlock, please,"

Sherlock settled somewhat, and in a few moments, he swayed with the music he played, the instrument seeming to be an extension of him. Molly wasn't sure what he was playing, but it was lovely and she felt as if she might float away on the music. In the firelight, his tall figure cast shadows as he played; he finished that piece and went on to another. No one protested, as it was the piece he'd written for John and Mary's wedding. Arm around his wife, John smiled, pressing her cheek, and she rested her head against him, her smile fond and warm.

Molly was peaceful from head-to-toe. So she was thirty-three and single. So what? So she worked with dead people while listening to 'Hairspray'. People called her foolish for breaking things off with Tom, at her age. Frankly she couldn't bring herself to care. She still had her friends, a job she enjoyed. So she was sometimes lonely. She could deal with that, so long as days like today still happened.

Sherlock felt pleasant. He supposed if he couldn't solve murders, this might be nice too: spending time with…friends? Family? Family didn't get on as well as this, did they? Well. Maybe some families did. He'd rather have his friends anyway.

Particularly if he could make Molly smile as she did when he played the violin.


	4. We Have Our Ups and Downs

_Our share of smiles and frowns_

* * *

Gunshots rang through the building.

"_Molly-!" _

There was a terrific crash, followed by gunshot, seconds later, another rang out.

John crouched over the pathologist, pressing the scarf Mrs. Hudson had knitted him just under her right breast. Some distance from them another body lay, groaning. John knew Sherlock would thank him for not killing the man. A dead man couldn't answer questions. For now, the shooter was incapacitated, quite unable to move. John turned to Molly, gently moving her so she was flat on her back.

"Stay with me, Molly, can you hear me?" John's voice was almost calm, though fear was in his eyes.

"Mm here," her voice was soft.

"We'll get an ambulance here for you-"

"Yes," she blinked slowly, feeling her strength draining, pain throbbing all over her body. In the distance she heard footsteps.

"Stay awake, Molly," John's voice was steady and urgent, almost jarring to the white peace that seemed to overtake her. "Listen to me, state your name, rank- er, job, where do you work?"

"Molly Hooper," she murmured. "Forensic pathologist, St. Bartholomew's." The footsteps had stopped nearby. In the back of her mind, she supposed it was Sherlock.

Sherlock had heard the shots and came running, finding John speaking softly to Molly, scarf pressed over the gunshot wound.

"Family?" John was trying to keep her awake as he pulled open an emergency kit in his messenger bag he carried with him.

"No…" her eyes were dull and she felt listless. "No family…" she blinked, looking over to Sherlock. "I could've had one…" John glanced up to the Consulting Detective. Sherlock did not look at his friend; he kept his gaze on Molly.

"Listen to John, do as he says and stay awake."

"Do my best," she murmured. "Mm cold though."

"I know, we'll sort that soon," John said.

"I'll stay still, I promise…"

"Good, keep talking, tell me about the last autopsy you performed, every detail, come on, was a man, wasn't it?"

"Yes…Gerald Fuller…male…"

It all became hazy after that. She was sure she'd heard sirens in the distance, and somewhere Greg had come around, pulling the man who'd shot her to his feet, sparing no rough treatment. She recalled EMT's bending over her, shining more lights in her eyes.

**Hours Later…**

The first thing she realized was that she was finally warm, cozily so. No fever, that was good. Molly blinked, opening her eyes properly. Carefully turning her head, she saw a figure slumped over in a chair.

"John?" she murmured. The figure jerked awake with a start.

"Molly!" It was Sherlock, and she found herself smiling. She would expect John to sit at her bedside, but finding Sherlock doing so was rather a pleasant surprise. "I convinced John to fetch a cup of tea for himself. He needed it."

"How long have I been out of it?" she asked.

"A little over two days."

"Two days?!"

"Steady," he gently pushed her back down on the bed, looking at the monitor displaying her vitals. "You lost a good deal of blood, it was uncertain for quite some time if you'd come through."

"Oh…" she murmured. "Why are you here?" He blinked.  
"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, I thought you'd need that case solved, you'd find another pathologist."

"I only have one, and she's rather incapacitated at the moment," he replied with a small grin.

"I knew it," she said.

"What?"

"You only want me for my bodies," she almost laughed then, had the morphine not been wearing off. Sherlock offered a grin at her joke, and she decided the pain of laughter was almost worth seeing him smile. "How is John?" she asked.

"Quite worried for you," Sherlock replied. "Mary and I had to convince him to let someone else have a chance to look after you."

"Why?" she asked. "It wasn't his fault I was shot." A figure at the doorway made them pause. John, looking worse for wear, stepped in the door.

"Sherlock, the tests on what the shooter was on came through. You're wanted down in the lab."

"Molly is awake," Sherlock announced before turning for the door. "I'll be downstairs," he swept past John, fairly skipping with delight, quite certain of the results of the tests.

"How are you feeling?" John asked.

"Better," Molly replied. "Well…better than I was two days ago," she sobered. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"I should have known better," he said. "I shouldn't have let you go first."

"I went ahead of you, because you wanted to look around some more, and I was impatient," Molly countered. "He would have shot the both of us. Besides its better that I was shot. What would I do against a man with a gun? I don't know how to shoot," she made to sit up but John stopped her, finding the remote for the bed. He helped her drink, the cool water soothing her parched throat. "Anyway," she said, once settled. "You handled things very well, you shot the criminal, whoever he was, without killing him, and you dialed for the EMT's and kept me awake. I'd say you did very well." She reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "So stop blaming yourself. If I had to be shot, I'm glad you were there to take care of me." John smiled a little then.

"Sherlock wouldn't stop boasting that nobody else could take a bullet like you," he said, and then almost laughed, shaking his head. "He paced the hallway for the better half of the first night. We were all worried, but I think he took it harder," John was quiet. "I don't know what we'd do if you didn't pull through, Molls."

"How's Mary?" she asked, embarrassed.

"Taking it all like a pro, she only sobbed for the better half of an hour when she first saw you after surgery," John smiled a little, and Molly knew he was only half-lying. "She's been reading to you, and keeps insisting if you don't wake up she'll steal all your good yarn." Molly laughed at that.

In a little while, John remembered to text Mary, who came over right away, bearing flowers, a box of chocolates, and celebrity gossip magazines.

"It's been ages since anyone's smiled in here," Mary said, and Molly looked around, even Sherlock was smiling, well, for him it was smiling. She supposed to everyone else it looked like a grimace.

"I wish I'd felt more like staying awake," Molly said. "I'd rather visit with everyone than rest."

"You rest, I'll read, and when you wake up again, we'll tell you how Greg played good cop, bad cop with your shooter," Mary said. Obediently, Molly shut her eyes while Mary opened up a magazine. Sleepily, she giggled as Mary scoffed and complained at the latest gossip until she slipped back into unconsciousness, pleased that her friends were nearby.


	5. But Through It All We Don't Fuss

'_Cause through it all we got a special thing goin', we got us_

* * *

"Where are the boys?" Mary asked. Greg checked his watch, sighing as he rocked on his heels.

"Late is where they are," Molly tugged uncomfortably at her gloves. "Trust Sherlock to make sure they're late the night we've got tickets for the opera."

"I thought he _liked_ opera," Greg said, confused.

"Not when Mycroft got the tickets for us," Mary replied. "Well if they don't show up you can always escort us," and Greg smiled.  
"I'd be glad to."

"Ugh, I can't breathe," Molly grumbled. "This stupid corset you talked me into-"

"Oh shush, you look amazing, Sherlock won't be able to concentrate," Mary batted her hand, ignoring Molly's flushed cheeks, checking her hair once more.

"Should we meet them there, do you think?" Greg asked.

"We may have to," Molly replied.

"I'll text John," Mary was fishing through her purse for her phone.

"Don't bother-" they all looked up to see Sherlock and John in the doorway, supporting each other, somewhat worse for wear.

"Sherlock!"

"Why do you all assume it was me?" he groused, groaning as Molly took his other arm, Greg and Mary helped John over to his chair.

"What happened?"

"We got caught, obviously," Sherlock snapped. Molly had already pulled her gloves off, opening the emergency kit. Kneeling at his feet, she started with his wrists, gently testing the swollen areas. "Ow!"

"It's only a sprain," she said. "Are you badly hurt anywhere else?"

"Ribs may be cracked," Sherlock muttered.

"From _what_?!"

"Jumping off the pier towards a moving boat," John added.

"We stopped them, didn't we?" Molly sighed tiredly.

"Shirt off, come on, I'll have to tape you up."

"Dare I ask if you were clever enough to jump as well?" Mary asked John tartly.

"Of course not!" John retorted. He paused, holding his waist somewhat as he shifted.

"Shirt. Off." Mary ground out; upset he'd taken such a stupid risk. Especially after watching Sherlock do it.

"Oh, by the way, there's criminals over at the Yard, waiting to be questioned, Gridley."

"Greg!" Lestrade snapped, hands on his hips. "My name is Greg!"

"Whatever," Sherlock muttered. Lestrade sighed heavily.

"Well I wasn't keen on going to the opera anyway, good excuse as any to get out of it," he shrugged into his coat.

"Goodnight, Greg," Molly called, unrolling bandages.

"Goodnight Molls, thanks Mary, see that they don't do any more damage, yeah?"

"Oh, believe me, they'll be staying in tomorrow," Mary replied. "Thanks for being willing to be our date tonight." He laughed, waved goodbye, shutting the door after him.

"Your what?" Sherlock asked. Molly glanced up at him; he grimaced as she pulled his arms out of his shirtsleeves.

"Our date," she replied. "You were late, so we thought we'd go ahead without you, we figured the case was what was keeping you." Sherlock was quiet, clearly not pleased.

"Sorry to ruin the night," John said. Mary sighed, carefully taping him up.

"It's to be expected," she said. "I'll go change, and then we'll order up some food. We've still got that bottle of champagne in the fridge, the evening needn't be a total waste," she helped John into his shirt again. "You'd better go wash your face," she turned to Molly. "Can you handle him while I run and change?"

"Oh yes," the pathologist nodded. "Not the first time I've played nurse."

"Shut up, Mary," Sherlock muttered, knowing exactly where Mary's mind was headed.

"What? Oh! Oh! No!" Molly spluttered. "No! He'd never, not- no. No we haven't. That's not what I meant-" but Mary was already giggling madly, hurrying upstairs while John grunted down the hall to the bathroom to wash up.

Sherlock sat, studying Molly as she taped his ribs and cleaned his cuts.

"Stop that," she said.

"What?"

"Stop deducing me, please."

"Did you want to go to the opera with…" he frowned. "Griswold?" she rolled her eyes, sighing.

"No. I wanted to go with you."

"Me?"

"And…Mary and John," she added, her gaze flicked up from his bandages to his face.

"Oh."

"Mostly you," she admitted after a moment, and Sherlock twisted his mouth, trying to hide his smile.

"Oh."

"Blast this stupid thing," she hissed, leaning back. She pinched her sides, holding her waist for a moment. "I should have brought a change of clothes, this corset is doing me in."

"There's a change of clothes in my room," he said quickly, attempting to maintain his calm. "Pyjamas that Mrs. Hudson keeps buying me that I never wear, they should fit you." He cleared his throat. "You obviously didn't eat much before you came over, and it's the least I can do, seeing as your night was ruined." She smiled.

"You don't mind?"

"I don't mind. Of course I don't mind," he said softly. She got to her feet, pleased then.

"Well you're all wrapped up, are you sure they're not too tight?"

"They're fine," he said.

"Where'd you say the change of clothes was?"

"Top left drawer of the dresser."

"Thank you." She picked up the train of her gown, feeling a little wistful that she didn't get to wear it out.

"Molly," she turned. "I'm sorry you didn't get to show off your dress, but to be fair, the people that matter saw it, and they think you look very beautiful." She stopped where she was, staring at him.

"They do?" she asked softly.

"I do." Her smile reached her eyes, and she seemed to glow all over as she swept down the hall to change. It wasn't until the door shut that Sherlock realized he had said 'I' rather than 'they'. But later that evening, as they all talked over the open containers of food, arguing and laughing, Sherlock would catch Molly smiling at him, and she'd flush and turn away. He decided he didn't mind.


	6. Some People Go Through Life Single

_That wouldn't suit us at all_

* * *

Mary sighed. Peace at last! The flat was quiet, John was out fetching groceries, and Mrs. Hudson (lovely as she was) would not be popping in for tea, as she was in Cornwall on holiday. Sherlock was at St. Barts, Molly promised to keep him distracted with an infected leg.

"Mary?!" the consulting Detective's voice bellowed through the flat.

"Bloody hell-" she groaned. Before she could even move, Sherlock had swept into the apartment, flinging open every door in the place before he found her, flopping onto the end of the bed.

"Mary! I need to use your tweezers-"

"No, Sherlock," she lifted her head to see Molly in the doorway, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry, I tried to keep him away."

"Sherlock, I haven't slept in days, the baby's been keeping me up,"

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he said authoritatively to Mary's wide belly, he prodded it gently. "How am I supposed to filch your mother's bathroom supplies if she's always in a wretched mood? Oh and stop making her ankles swell and all that."

"Stop poking me!" she pushed him away. Molly clambered up onto the bed, Sherlock reclined beside her.

"I suppose I can't have the tweezers?" he asked.

"They're in the bathroom," Mary sighed. He got to his feet,

"Don't jostle!" Mary and Molly both protested and he slid off the bed, ignoring them.

"Has he been like this all day?" Mary asked.

"Mmhm," Molly sighed. "First he had me running back and forth from the supply closet to the lab, to linens, and then he decided that what he needed wasn't in St. Barts, so we ran to my place, but I didn't have the right sort of tweezers or scissors, whatever it is he's looking for, and then he remembered that you probably did. I tried to convince him to just pick up a pair at the store, but he wouldn't have it."

"I suppose the leg only kept him entertained for so long."

"No, he's still playing with it," Molly answered, crossing her ankles.

"Good God, it's not here is it?!" Mary sat up, horrified.

"Oh heavens no!" Molly laughed. "I wouldn't bring that here, I forbid him," Mary sat back and the pathologist fluffed up the pillows for her. Sherlock poked his head out of the bathroom.

"Mary what's this?"

"What's what?"

"This goo in the jar."

"Hair remover."

"Hair? You don't have any hair in odd places." Mary gave him a look.

"For my legs, Sherlock."

"Oh a waxing compound," he nodded, setting the jar back on the shelf. "What about this?" he held up an electric razor. "Can I take this?"

"No, that's John's good electric razor." she said. Sherlock grumbled, shutting it off. Molly stifled her giggles. He returned to the bedroom, climbing back up beside Molly.

"Sherlock we have to get going,"

"Why?"  
"Your experiment for one thing and besides, you interrupted Mary's nap," Molly said.

"That experiment is on hold," Sherlock answered, steepling his hands under his chin. He shut his eyes, sighing. Molly lifted her head, realizing.  
"Don't you dare do it, don't you even think of using your mind palace-"

"Too late," he murmured. "Shut up, thinking,"

"Sherlock-"

"Oh let him be," Mary sighed heavily. "So long as he's quiet, I don't care. I'm sure you could use a nap."

So that was how John found the three of them, stretched out on the bed, Mary and Molly fast asleep while Sherlock mumbled equations.

"What goes on?" he asked, almost laughing. Mary stirred.

"Climb up, John, there's room," she patted the bed, nudging Molly, who scooted closer to Sherlock. Taking the corner, John almost laughed, kissing his wife. "What are we doing?" he asked, once settled.

"Resting," Mary said quietly.

Oh I see," he shut his eyes, sighing a little. "Why are all four of us resting?"

"Because Sherlock won't leave, and I don't dare leave him alone with Mary when he's in one of his moods," Molly said.

"Oh." John settled again, hands folded over his stomach. He lifted his head suddenly. "He's not high, is he?"

"No," Molly answered. "Just bordering-manic today."

"Oh."

John was just falling asleep when they all felt the bed dip, Sherlock leapt to his feet, holding his phone.

"Oh! Brilliant! John! Get up! It's a mass-murder! Oh it's better than _Christmas_!" he went skipping from the room, leaving the three on the bed to slowly sit up, frowning. Slowly, he returned, poking his head through the door. "Not good?"

"_Bit_ not good," John said, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed with a grunt. "Alright, I'm off, sorry I couldn't nap longer," he kissed Mary, waving goodbye to Molly as he found his shoes.

"See you tonight," Molly called. The door shut behind the boys, and both women sighed.

"Peace at last," Mary murmured, and they both sighed happily.


	7. Why Sing a Melody as a Soliloquy

_When it's more fun to be harmonizing_

* * *

John blinked, feeling a pleasant weight on his chest. The weight rumbled, pinpricks in four places on his chest, as if pinching him. The rumbling grew louder, and a small wet thing touched his nose, before the noise grew louder, and something akin to wet Velcro dragged across his nose. He opened his eyes, finding Molly's cat happily kneading him.

"Why is Toby on my chest?" he asked aloud.

"He crawled up there a while ago." He turned his head to see Mary, hands on either side of her wide belly reclining beside him.  
"Why are we on Molly's bed?"

"You got drugged during the case, and Molly's flat was closest. It's my turn to watch you and make sure you keep breathing."

"Oh," John nodded. Seemed reasonable. He did remember feeling the needle in his thigh. Speaking of… "Why can't I feel my legs?"

"Side-effect," she shrugged.

"What was I drugged with?" he asked.

"I don't know. Molly and Sherlock are running tests in the kitchen to figure it out."

"In the kitchen?" he frowned. "In Molly's kitchen?"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time they've turned her kitchen into a laboratory, he did use her flat as a bolt-hole while he was in hiding. She had most of the equipment here from earlier anyway, it seemed easier than running all the way to St. Barts."

"Oh," John stared at the ceiling for a few moments. "What about the person who drugged me?" Mary frowned.

"I think Sherlock pistol-whipped him, according to Molly he did anyway. Lestrade will question him as soon as he comes to." John felt the bed dip, and he watched Mary boost herself up into a sitting position before she got to her feet. "I'll go and see if I can make you a cup of tea, if they haven't commandeered the kettle."

In a little while, Molly appeared, nudging John awake again.

"M'fine," he said. "Just a little dizzy,"

"Mary made a pot of tea, I've brought you a cup."

"Where is Mary?"

"Keeping Sherlock from tearing apart my toaster oven, she sent me in here to make sure you're still alive and if you were, to drink this, can you sit up?"

"Think so," his arms still worked at least, so with Molly's help he eased himself up to lean against the padded headboard.

"How are your legs?"

"Think the feelings coming back, they feel like pins and needles."

"Here," she pulled the covers back, shooing Toby away before taking John's calves, gently squeezing. "That? Feel that?"

"Ow! Yes," he grunted. "Keep going, it'll get the blood flowing again."

After a little while John said he felt better and in another half-hour, with Molly's help, he was able to hobble into the living room. She set him on the couch where he could see Mary and Sherlock, the latter muttering to himself while Mary held up a notepad for him so he could see his math.

"Any progress?" Molly asked.

"I see John is back among the living, good to know it's not permanent."

"What was it?"

"Some home-made form of a date-rape drug," Sherlock said. "It's newer, very expensive on the black market. Used usually for human trafficking rings. It's quite efficient," he seemed impressed. The room was still, and he looked up. "Not good?"

"Not exactly," Molly ruffled his curls.

"It doesn't explain how they get into the victim's systems though. What John was injected with was the same formula as the last three women, but it was a higher concentration, of course if they've expanded to kidnapping men now they'd need a higher dose-" Molly let him think aloud, turning to the other two.

"Mary, go sit down, put your feet, up," she took the notebook from her hands.

"It's not that bad-"  
"You're almost to your due-date, you're supposed to be on bed-rest!" Molly scolded.

"Dull," Sherlock and Mary both answered and John chuckled.

"Come on," he patted the couch cushion. "Come sit with me. Maybe we can get Molly to make us food."

"Give me a few minutes to clear a spot on the stove," Molly said. "What do you want me to cook?"

"OH!" Sherlock leapt to his feet. "OH!" he clasped Molly's face. "That's it!"

"What?" she frowned, despite Sherlock smooshing her face. He gave her a shake and she relaxed, grinning.

"Food! _Stupid!_ In the food! It's administered in the food! They were testing it on John, if it's injected straight into the blood-stream it's too obvious, they'll switch to food. No injection sight, it passes through the system within a few hours, and only the side-effects remain! People would assume they're only drunk! Idiot!" he pulled her forward, kissing her soundly before releasing her, snatching his coat, putting it on with a flourish. "If we hurry, we'll be able to catch them in the act! Come on Molly!" he sprinted out the door, leaving the pathologist numbly grasping the chair for support.

"I'm- uh, I'll just- we'll be back," she stuttered, grabbing her jacket and pepper spray.

"Mary, monitor John, see if he has any other symptoms, I've written them down on the table!" Sherlock bellowed.

"What do you mean _on_ the table?!" Molly shouted back at him as she hurried out the door, slamming it behind her, cutting off Sherlock's reply.

"Now what?" John asked. "I don't dare use my legs yet."

"I've got to rest my back," Mary said with a grunt as she shifted uncomfortably. "Let's see if Greg will bring us food,"

"Oo," Mary reached for the phone, dialing the DI.

"Mary?"

"Yes, Sherlock kissed Molly."

"Okay. Just wanted to be sure it wasn't a side-effect of the stuff." She smiled, patting his thigh.

"Shall I kiss you, just to be sure?"

"Oh…if you insist," he smiled cheekily.


	8. People Say We Are Crazy the Way We Are

_That we won't even discuss, 'cause what we got they can't smother_

* * *

"Now? Right now?"

"Why not?" Molly beamed up at Sherlock. "What's stopping us?"

"I thought you may want something more traditional," he shrugged. "The white gown and cake at the church type of wedding."

"I don't need it," she replied. "If I get you, that's all I want. I don't need a party," she paused. "Did _you_ want something like that?"

"No!" he shook his head. "I've never wanted all that pomp and circumstance."

"Then let's go tonight, right now, I don't need flowers, we've known for this long we love each other, why wait?" He grinned, sly and gleeful. He grabbed his phone, sending out a quick text before pocketing it again and reaching for her hand. Together they ran down the empty street. Sherlock slowed at the curb but Molly pulled him along.

"Come on, slowpoke, it's not that far away!" he chuckled, letting her pull him along, enjoying the thrill of the empty, dark streets, their feet pounding the pavement as they made their way to the court house.

"Mary," John was frowning at his phone.

"What?"

"We've got to go down to the court house."

"What? Why?" he held up his phone so she could read Sherlock's latest text.

"Sherlock and Molly are getting married."

"Oh my God!" Mary gasped and struggled to her feet, trying to keep her balance.

Sherlock and Molly were at the doors, still beaming when John and Mary arrived, out of breath, the latter clutching a bouquet of flowers, her other hand supporting her belly.

"If you think you're getting married without flowers, then you're quite wrong, for pity's sake, let me at least comb your hair," Mary scolded the pathologist and pulled her out of Sherlock's grasp. Molly allowed her to quickly brush out the tangles from earlier, managing to put it up in a simple bun. "Thank goodness I keep bobby pins in my purse," she muttered.

"You're not going to stop us, are you?" Molly asked quietly. Mary looked up, surprised and confused.

"Why on Earth would I?"

"Well…I guess…because I thought maybe you and John would want us to wait or-"

"Wait- good grief. Haven't you waited long enough?"

John was forcing Sherlock out of his belstaff.

"At least try and look presentable, you can't get married with this dusty thing," he said. "Least you proposed to her in a suit, don't suppose you have a tie?" Sherlock gave him a look. "No I didn't think so."

A man appeared at the door.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, just coming," Mary answered, tucking the last of Molly's flyaways behind her ear. "There. Better," she smiled.

John and Mary reached for eachother, watching as Sherlock and Molly were married. Wedding bands had been bought ages ago, Sherlock had always carried them. To be honest, he hadn't planned on proposing to her that evening, it just so happened that he had. He was glad of the way things had turned out. It was exactly as he'd want them, but never dared think Molly would happily make the decision for them. He would have gone through the whole white wedding affair if she'd wanted to; he supposed he'd do a great many things for her if she wanted him to. A part of him did wonder what she'd look like in a white veil and gown. He did admit he was a little sorry he wouldn't have that memory, but as he slid the wedding band onto her finger, and she looked up at him, her face positively aglow with joy, he decided she looked just as lovely in her yellow linen as she would in a wedding gown.

Molly supposed everyone would wonder and be surprised that she didn't wait to plan a big to-do for her and Sherlock. She couldn't really see the point of it. Yes, it would be lovely, but the expense for just one day seemed silly to her. She'd rather spend the money on a lovely honeymoon for the two of them. Besides, she knew Sherlock loathed wearing a tie and only ever put one on if it was required in a case. And anyway she wasn't too keen on being the center of attention. She would have liked Greg and Mycroft to be there, and Mrs. Hudson, but once you invite a few, you must invite a mob. The people that mattered most to her and Sherlock were there, and that's what counted. John and Mary didn't even bat an eye at Sherlock informing them of the impending ceremony. They met them right away, even bringing flowers for Molly's bouquet and one to put in Sherlock's lapel. Molly smiled at Sherlock, noting that he was as calm as could be. The expression he held was one she'd rarely seen in public. It was in the private moments between them when he felt at ease, which was almost always when it was just the two of them. She knew he was pleased.

Afterwards, arm in arm, they trooped out of the courthouse, even Sherlock was smiling.

"Where to now?" John asked.

"Let's go celebrate, but we'll save the champagne for when Mary can have a glass."

"What will we celebrate with?" Mary asked. "You've got to have a wedding supper at least. Is anything open?"

The 'wedding supper' turned out to be from a deli up the street, consisting of Jacobs Cream crackers, all of the Dairy Milk chocolate bars the deli was selling, a large bag of crisps, and a brick of Dubliner cheese. They raided John and Mary's kitchen and found a good chunk of hard salami, an unopened tin of sardines and a can of mixed nuts. They crowded back down into 221b, rowdy and giggling. As they all settled in, talking and teasing, Molly was pleased to reiterate the thought that she'd been right. She couldn't possibly have had a nicer wedding than that.


	9. We'd Trade Our Life For No Other

_They've only got one another, but we got us_

* * *

Sherlock bounced on his heels, monitoring the nurse who was explaining to Mary exactly what the epidural would do, how it would be placed and so on.

"She's in the medical field, you know," he snapped.

"We have to explain it, sir," the nurse answered.

"I don't care how it's done," Mary replied breathlessly. "Just do it!"

"Very shortly," the nurse promised and went to fetch the doctor.

"Where is John?" Sherlock muttered. He paced the room, poking his head out into the hallway before returning to Mary's bedside. "He should have been there when your water broke," he said.

"I'm just glad someone was there," Mary laughed, wincing as another contraction rippled through her. "Uuuuuugh," clutching the bed sheets, she groaned, knuckles almost white.

"What do I do?" he asked. "Ice? Or do you want a gag?"

"A what?"

"I don't know!" he stammered, flustered.

"Ice," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "Ice would be best,"

"Cubed or chips?"  
"Sherlock, think about it." There was a long pause. "Chipped ice, Sherlock, cripes, how am I going to put a whole ice cube in my mouth?"

"Right," he hurried off.

He returned in a while, clutching several cups of ice chips, Mary took the first, rattling it noisily.

"Where is John?" she murmured, worried.

**Across London**

"Bloody cripes, where did all this traffic come from?!" John groaned.

"Excuse me," Molly poked her head through the privacy glass in the cab. "But his wife has gone into labor, I don't suppose there's a back route we could take, or a sidewalk?"

"Wot?" the cabby asked, baffled.

"She's dilating," John read the latest text.

"Sod, this, let's go," Molly threw a wad of bills at the cab. "There, keep the change," she yanked John out of the car, looked both ways for traffic before sprinting down the street, squeezing between cars.

"You hang around your husband too much!" John shouted, running after her.

"You enjoy it and you know it!"

Together they dodged cars, checking their phones, swearing as cars came to squealing stops, the drivers cussing them out.

"Shut up his wife's having a baby!" Molly screeched as they sprinted by.

"This way!" John grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the way of a lorry, yanking her down an alley. "Blimey, I can't believe I'm doing this," he added breathlessly. "Come on, hop this fence, shortcut!"

"Now who's been spending too much time with Sherlock?"  
"You know better," he grunted, boosting her up. She hung over the top, he grasped her wrists and she pulled him over with her, toppling onto a pile of cardboard boxes. "Convenient, that,"

"I think Mycroft pays someone to leave boxes and bin bags of foam rubber around for these occasions."

"Wouldn't be surprised," John added.

**St. Barts**

"I've texted him, he's got to be in traffic, bloody tubes workers are on strike, Anthea says Mycroft is working on it,"

"You mean my husband arriving in time for the birth of our first child is hinging on a bunch of underpaid train workers?!" Mary gasped through a contraction. The Consulting Detective shifted uncomfortably.

"Possibly…" he said slowly. "However if I know John, he'd rather run than wait."

"I don't know that _I_ can wait," she groaned.

"Well…can't you just cross your legs?" he asked, frowning.

"Sherlock, it's not like holding it when you have to go!"

"Isn't it?"

"NO!"

"I'll text Mycroft," he nodded.

**Halfway across London**

"Told you this was faster," Molly said cheerily. They hung on the back of a garbage lorry, catching their breath.

"Hope they let us in," John said as the truck rumbled down the street.

"I've got sanitizer in my purse."

"Oi!" they looked up to see the driver gesturing to them from inside the truck. A police officer had noticed and was jogging towards them.

"Time to go!" they jumped off just as the lorry's breaks began to squeal, grabbing Molly's hand, John tugged her along, out of the policeman's grasp. "Is it like this all the time?" she called after him.

"Usually," he hollered over the noise. "At least no one is shooting at us!"

**Delivery Room**

"Are you sure you want me to video it?" Sherlock asked.

"Look if John can't be here, he can at least be forced to see the pain he's put me through-" she was cut off by a contraction that nearly doubled her over. "Would you stop staring?" Mary barked. "Just point the camera and shoot,"

"Uh-"

"Sherlock!"

"John!" Mary gasped just as he and Molly came sliding to a stop.

"They said you were here," he ran to her, kissing her forehead. "Oh my God, look at you, you're close now,"

"I'm so glad you're here," she murmured, relieved. "You smell like disinfectant," she made a face.

"Yeah, I know," he looked down at his clothes and shoes. "We had to sterilize before we came in." Sherlock thrust the operating gown at his friend.  
"Here, you'll have to wear this, may I stop filming?"

"Yes," Mary said.

The doctor appeared.

"Is the husband here?"

"I should hope so, or else Mary has some explaining to do," Sherlock answered. Molly tugged him out, wishing Mary the best of luck.

"You'd better sit down," Sherlock said and Molly, feeling her knees were wobbling, reached for the nearest chair. His nose wrinkled. "You rode on a garbage truck?"

"It was the only thing moving in traffic and frankly we had to jump onto something, we'd run nearly all the way from Victoria Station."

"Hm," he sank into the chair beside her.

"How was Mary?" she asked.

"Cross, rather nervous, I expect, but adapting to the circumstances if John couldn't make it," Sherlock said. She smiled, squeezing his knee, turning over her palm so he could take her hand, lacing his fingers in hers. "Are you excited to be an aunt?" he asked after a moment. It was such an odd question to come from him, and Molly wasn't sure if she was more surprised that he asked it or that he actually sounded sincere.

"Of course I am," she said. "Babies are always lovely. Well, not always. But other people's babies are. You can give them back when they are rotten and spoil them while their parents are away."  
"Why should anyone want to spoil a child?" he frowned.  
"Look who's talking," she laughed. Resting her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. "I wouldn't spoil John and Mary's baby. Not with things anyway." Sherlock turned his head slightly, so he could look at her as she spoke. "I'd rather give it memories, pieces of life it won't be able to forget, something she can learn from, bedtime stories and silly games and paper hats, the times with Auntie Molly and Uncle Sherlock should be happy memories, not 'that time they bought me this toy or that gadget'." She sighed tiredly.

"You may as well rest," he said after a moment. "I think the littlest Watson will be taking after her mother and keep us waiting."

Sherlock was in the middle of organizing a very important room in his Mind Palace when he was shaken awake by John.

"What is it?"

"I'm a father," John beamed. "Ella was just born, I had to come and tell you, I've got to go right back in though,"

"Is Mary alright?" Molly asked.

"She's fine, she did beautifully," John was absolutely beaming with pride. "They're both perfectly fine, I'll tell you more later,"

"Don't keep Mary waiting," Sherlock reminded him. "But do give our love,"

"Yes I will, it will be just a little bit longer until you can see them, but I'll come and get you," John promised and hurried back into the delivery room.

Molly sighed with a smile, stretching carefully.

"I'm hungry," she murmured. "Shall I risk missing him and run down to the cafeteria?"

"Should we have a baby, Molly?" Sherlock asked suddenly. Her eyes popped open.  
"What?"

"Should we have a baby?" he asked again carefully. "Ella ought to have a playmate."

"People don't have babies just to keep other babies company."

"I know," he replied. "But you want to be a mother as well,"

"I never said I did," her voice was soft.

"No, but I am not as dense as the average husband, I _do_ observe."

"Yes, you do," she murmured, smiling a little. "I didn't mean to be obvious, I probably was." They were quiet a moment. "I don't…um…I don't want to tell anyone right away," she began. "It's not that I want no one to know…but at my age…there can be complications and I'd hate to get everyone excited and then disappoint them." She fidgeted, tugging at a loose thread on her cuff. Sherlock thought to himself that Molly was younger than Mary, and Mary had given birth to a perfectly healthy baby (so far). But of course he knew Molly was referring more to herself than anyone else. She wouldn't let herself build up her hopes only to have them shot down. It was something too precious to her to truly hope for yet.

"We will try," he promised her. "And if that doesn't work, there are always options." She looked up at him, eyes shining.

"Would- would you really? For me?"

"For us," he nodded. She blinked, and he wiped the corners of her eyes, kissing the damp places there.

"This is John and Mary's day," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "Let's let them enjoy it," he nodded, smiling the tiniest of smiles.

"Mum's the word, for now."

"Hey," John stood in the doorway. Sherlock and Molly turned then. "Come and meet your niece." Wiping her eyes quickly, Molly bounced to her feet, hurrying in with the biggest of smiles, cooing at the sight of the baby. Sherlock smiled at her retreating form. "Is she okay?" John asked as Sherlock followed.

"She's fine," he shrugged. "Just happy is all, you know women."

"Not sure as I do," John shrugged.

"Me either," he answered, low. He shook John's hand then, moving to stand by the bed where Mary was tucked in, Ella wrapped up in her arms. Sherlock watched as Molly ever so gently lifted the child into her arms, cradling her just so, tracing the outline of her face, eyes shining with warmth and love, and something else Sherlock couldn't quite place. It would suit Molly, being a mother. She was a giver and a caretaker, she loved to love, and Ella Watson was sure to get plenty of it from her new Aunt. As the baby was placed into Sherlock's arms, he looked across the bed at Molly, catching her gaze. Her eyes were shining, and she seemed all aglow.

"You're next on the list," Mary said, taking the baby back from Sherlock after a moment. Startled from his thoughts, he leaned over, carefully settling Ella in her mother's arms. "Everyone will be expecting you to have a baby now."

"You never know," Molly said slowly. Mary and John both looked at them, then each other. Sherlock quirked a smile. "I mean…there are things still to discuss…health risks…but…" she shrugged. "It could happen." John clapped Sherlock on the back, grinning from ear to ear.

"Whatever happens you know we'll support you," Mary said.

"There will be time to talk about all that later," Molly said. "Let's celebrate this little one for now." John took out his camera.

"Come on, bunch up, first pictures, father's right,"

"Five minutes," Molly ordered and dug through her purse, combing Mary's hair.

"Oh there's nothing saving me right now, let's have a picture," Mary said.

"Come on Sherlock, act like there's a murder behind me," John scolded and Sherlock attempted a smile as the camera flashed.

"We are the weirdest family I have ever seen," Mary sighed with a laugh. "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, little miss," she smiled at Ella, tickling her chin.

"Course she does," John said, coming to take Sherlock's place at Mary's side. "She's had to listen to his whining for the past nine months." The others burst out laughing as Sherlock voiced his protests. Molly tried to smother her laughter, kissing him gently.

"Don't ever change, love, Ella's got to have someone to teach her about blood spatters and ash."

"And how to properly clear a fence," Mary added.

"And how to avoid arrest," John put in.

"I think we've both found that useful," Sherlock replied coolly.

"She's going to have the best life," Molly sighed, delighted.

"One can only hope."


End file.
